


Regrets

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 18:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2592176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theron finally tells Zevran about how he became a Grey Warden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regrets

“So, Grey Warden.” Zevran purred in the content quiet that had settled over them as they lay together, their bare bodies curled around each other as the dim morning light filtered through the tent. Theron glanced down curiously at the Antivan practically sprawled across him, sensing that the other elf wasn’t done talking.

“You have obviously not always been a Grey Warden, yes?” Zevran continued, opening his eyes and tilting his head up slightly to look up at the Dalish elf, at the _vallaslin_ on his forehead.

“I take it you want me to tell you about my life before all this insanity and chaos started?” Theron asked dryly.

“Or, if you don’t wish to talk about that, what about how you became a Grey Warden?” The blond offered. The darker elf sighed, running a hand through Zevran’s fine hair as he considered his answer.

He’d only ever really told Alistair, not long after they’d met and Ostagar had fallen to the darkspawn. It felt… Too personal to share with the others. He wasn’t sure if they would truly understand what had happened, and just how it had changed him. Still, he supposed telling Zevran now would be a start…

“I once had a friend, Tamlen. One day we found three _shemlen_ from a nearby village sneaking around the forest close to where our camp was.” Theron began slowly. “They said they’d found a ruin, deep in the forest. We thought they were lying, naturally, and Tamlen insisted we go check. We did find a ruin - it was overrun with giant spiders and walking skeletons. At the end, in the heart of the ruin we found a bearskarn - obviously, neither of us had seen a darkspawn before, let alone a bearskarn. We barely survived. There was a mirror in the room as well.” Theron trailed off abruptly, and Zevran frowned.

“A mirror?” He repeated, lifting his head up from the Dalish elf’s chest to give him a quizzical look. “What, did the bearskarn enjoy looking at its own reflection?” The elf joked, but his chuckle died off quickly as he realised his attempt at humour was ill-placed, judging from the way Theron looked at him.

“My apologies. Please, continue.” The Antivan replied sheepishly, resolving to be as quiet as a Chantry mouse until the tale had been told.

“The mirror…” The black-haired elf sighed wearily, closing his eyes. “It didn’t _feel_ right, and there had been that twisted creature in the room with it. I wanted to leave, but Tamlen refused to listen. He kept stepping closer to the mirror, like it was pulling him in, saying he could hear it somehow, and I… I felt scared. We’d found the ruin, proved the _shemlen_ weren’t lying, we didn’t need to stay any longer, but Tamlen wanted to, I think. I was about to grab him, actually drag him out of the place and go back to the clan, but-” Theron cut himself off again with a choked sob, the rush of words like a tidal wave. He was blinking hard, determinedly, and shaking his head to himself.

Zevran had only ever seen the other elf cry once before. That had been when they’d first reached the Dalish camp on the edge of the Brecilian Forest. It had not been his clan - Theron had said they’d gone north, but it had been similar enough that when they had settled down for the night, Zevran had woken up to the sound of the black-haired elf crying softly into his furs out of homesickness. Now was no less alarming, the Crow noted as he watched the other elf’s eyes watering. The end of this tale would not be a happy one.

“Tamlen.” Theron whispered in a low keen, his voice and self control breaking at last, and Zevran held him close as he began to quietly sob. He had longed for someone to do the same for him after Rinna. He understood his lover’s grief. Tamlen clearly had meant something to the Grey Warden. Perhaps everything.

“Tamlen, I didn’t… _Mythal’enaste_ …” The black-haired man continued in between crying or shuddering gasps for breath, muttering his regrets and curses shakily to himself against Zevran’s shoulders, and it pained the former assassin to hear how broken he sounded. Eventually, the Warden grew calm and quiet again.

“I’m… I’m not sure what happened next.” Theron managed to say, pulling back to roughly wipe his eyes dry and sniffing inelegantly, recollecting himself. He lay back on the bedroll, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I think Tamlen touched the mirror, or he did _something_. I passed out, everything after that is a white blur.”

Zevran nodded, carefully lying back down next to Theron, draping an arm over his sleek midsection and drawing him close again. The other elf rested his hands by his sides, staring up at the ceiling of the tent, and then he let out a deep sigh.

“I came to about two days later, back at the camp. Apparently, I’d managed to crawl out through another passage out of the ruins, delirious with fever - and, as it turned out, darkspawn taint from that mirror. There was no sign of Tamlen.”

Theron closed his eyes firmly again, taking a deep, steadying breath.

“A human had found me outside the ruin, and carried me back to the camp. Duncan, the Warden Commander. He’d been in the area, about to go into the ruin himself when he found me. I went back with him and a few others to look for Tamlen. There were more darkspawn there, and Duncan smashed the mirror.” He continued, feeling slightly reassured with Zevran’s arms comfortingly around him. “We held a memorial service for Tamlen, and I had to leave my home and join the Grey Wardens so I’d survive the taint running through my veins. Then, I met Alistair; Ostagar fell, King Cailan and Duncan were killed… The rest is history.” Theron finished slowly, matter-of-factly, looking down at his hands. He lifted one up, drawing Zevran’s attention to the carved wooden ring he always wore.

“The keeper of my clan gave me this as a parting gift. I suppose it’s a reminder of home.”

The two were quiet for a long while, listening to the stirrings of life from the camp outside, the faint sound of Leliana humming to herself.

“Do you blame yourself for what happened with Tamlen?” Zevran eventually asked, withdrawing an arm so he could prop his head up with his hand and look down at the other elf.

“Of course I do.” Theron nodded. “It was my fault. We shouldn’t even have gone into that ruin to begin with, but I wanted to see if it really was an elven ruin.”

“And was it?”

The Dalish elf frowned, obviously trying to cast his mind back weeks and months.

“There were statues of the old elven gods along just about every corridor, so I think so.” Theron sighed heavily, closing his eyes. Zevran reached out, gently stroking the back of his fingers along the other elf’s cheek.

“Listen, _mi amor_. What happened was not your fault, even though you think otherwise. From the sound of it, Tamlen was too curious to listen to you, or the smarter part of himself. Perhaps that mirror even enchanted him somehow?” The former Crow spoke up, meeting the other’s gaze. “You were not responsible for his death. The mirror did that.”

“But I feel like I am, I feel responsible for what happened. I’ve sat up or lain awake at night for months, thinking about all the things I could have done to stop it, to make sure he survived. I could have stopped him, I _should_ have pulled him away from the mirror.” Theron replied, looking up at Zevran pitifully.

“I know, and I understand.” The blond replied calmly, looking back steadily. Tomorrow, he decided as he leant down to softly kiss Theron’s cheek. Tomorrow he would explain about Talisen, and Rinna. How he understood far more than Theron realised about losing the people he loved. How he dreaded the thought that, one day, they might lose each other. As if they were both thinking the same thing, Zevran’s arms tightened around the Dalish elf as his wrapped around the former Crow’s shoulders, and they held each other close.

**Author's Note:**

> Here, have some [implied post-sex] h/c.  
> Sorry for the delay. I have some stuff written up to post over the next few days, which is good. What's not so good is that I have an essay due soon, and so I'll need to spend my days working on that rather than more fics, as much as I wish it wasn't so. I'll be taking another break from writing and uploading for a little while, but I should be clear around the 17th, yay!


End file.
